Frank's Campaign; Or, The Farm and the Camp

The old lady cautiously rose to a sitting posture, and, mechanically adjusting her spectacles, took a good look at the young man.

“Why, I declare for it, ef it ain’t Mr. Morton! I thought ‘twas you that fired at me.”

“I hope you are not hurt,” said Mr. Morton, finding a difficulty in preserving his gravity.

“I dunno,” said the old lady dubiously, pulling up her sleeve, and examining her arm. “I don’t see nothin’; but I expect I’ve had some injury to my inards. I feel as ef I’d had a shock somewhere. Do you think he’ll fire again?” she asked, with a sudden alarm.

“You need not feel alarmed,” was the soothing reply. “It was no doubt an accident.”

Turning suddenly, he espied Pomp peering from behind a tree, with eyes and mouth wide open. The little contraband essayed a hasty flight; but Mr. Morton, by a masterly flank movement, came upon him, and brought forward the captive kicking and struggling.

“Le’ me go!” said Pomp. “I ain’t done noffin’!”

“Didn’t you fire a gun at this lady?”

“No,” said Pomp boldly. “Wish I may be killed ef I did!”

“I know ‘twas you—you—you imp!” exclaimed Mrs. Payson, in violent indignation. “I seed you do it. You’re the wust boy that ever lived, and you’ll be hung jest as sure as I stan’ here!”

“How did it happen, Pomp?” asked Mr. Morton quietly.

“It jest shooted itself!” said Pomp, in whom the old lady’s words inspired a vague feeling of alarm. “I ‘clare to gracious, Mass’ Morton, it did!”

“Didn’t you have the gun in your hand, Pomp? Where did you get it?”

“I jest borrered it of Mass’ Frank, to play sojer a little while,” said Pomp reluctantly.

“Does he know that you have got it?”

“I ‘clare I done forgot to tell him,” said Pomp reluctantly.

“Will you promise never to touch it again?”

“Don’t want to!” ejaculated Pomp, adding spitefully, “He kick me over!”

“I’m glad on’t,” said the old lady emphatically, with a grim air of satisfaction. “That’ll l’arn you not to fire it off at your elders ag’in. I’ve a great mind to box your ears, and sarve you right, too.”

Mrs. Payson advanced, to effect her purpose; but Pomp was wary, and, adroitly freeing himself from Mr. Morton’s grasp, butted at the old lady with such force that she would have fallen backward but for the timely assistance of Mr. Morton, who sprang to her side. Her bag fell to the ground, and she struggled to regain her lost breath.

“Oh!” groaned the old lady, gasping for breath, “he’s mos’ knocked the breath out of me. I sha’n’t live long a’ter such a shock. I’m achin’ all over. Why did you let him do it?”

“He was too quick for me, Mrs. Payson. I hope you feel better.”

“I dunno as I shall ever feel any better,” said Mrs. Payson gloomily. “If Cynthy Ann only knew how her poor old ma’am had been treated! I dunno as I shall live to get home!”

“Oh, yes, you will,” said the young man cheerfully, “and live to see a good many years more. Would you like to have me attend you home?”

“I ain’t got strength to go so fur,” said Mrs. Payson, who had not given up her plan of taking tea out. “I guess I could go as fur as Mis’ Frost’s, an’ mebbe some on you will tackle up an’ carry me back to Cynthy Ann’s a’ter tea.”

Arrived at the farmhouse, Mrs. Payson indulged in a long detail of grievances; but it was observed that they did not materially affect her appetite at tea.

The offending musket was found by Frank under a tree, where Pomp had dropped it when it went off.

CHAPTER XXVIII. JOHN HAYNES HAS A NARROW ESCAPE

John Haynes found the time hang heavily upon his hand after his withdrawal from the boys’ volunteer company. All the boys with whom he had been accustomed to associate belonged to it, and in their interest could talk of nothing else. To him, on the contrary, it was a disagreeable subject. In the pleasant spring days the company came out twice a week, and went through company drill on the Common, under the command of Frank, or Captain Frost, as he was now called.

Had Frank shown himself incompetent, and made himself ridiculous by blunders, it would have afforded John satisfaction. But Frank, thorough in all things, had so carefully prepared himself for his duties that he never made a mistake, and always acquitted himself so creditably and with such entire self-possession, that his praises were in every mouth.

Dick Bumstead, too, manifested an ambition to fill his second lieutenancy, to which, so much to his own surprise, he had been elected, in such a manner as to justify the company in their choice. In this he fully succeeded. He had become quite a different boy from what he was when we first made his acquaintance. He had learned to respect himself, and perceived with great satisfaction that he was generally respected by the boys. He no longer attempted to shirk his work in the shop, and his father now spoke of him with complacency, instead of complaint as formerly.

“Yes,” said he one day, “Dick’s a good boy. He was always smart, but rather fly-a-way. I couldn’t place any dependence upon him once, but it is not so now. I couldn’t wish for a better boy. I don’t know what has come over him, but I hope it’ll last.”

Dick happened to overhear his father speaking thus to a neighbor, and he only determined, with a commendable feeling of pride, that the change that had given his father so much pleasure should last. It does a boy good to know that his efforts are appreciated. In this case it had a happy effect upon Dick, who, I am glad to say, kept his resolution.

It has been mentioned that John was the possessor of a boat. Finding one great source of amusement cut off, and being left very much to himself, he fell back upon this, and nearly every pleasant afternoon he might be seen rowing on the river above the dam. He was obliged to confine himself to this part of the river, since, in the part below the dam, the water was too shallow.

There is one great drawback, however, upon the pleasure of owning a rowboat. It is tiresome to row single-handed after a time. So John found it, and, not being overfond of active exertion, he was beginning to get weary of this kind of amusement when all at once a new plan was suggested to him. This was, to rig up a mast and sail, and thus obviate the necessity of rowing.

No sooner had this plan suggested itself than he hastened to put it into execution. His boat was large enough to bear a small mast, so there was no difficulty on that head. He engaged the village carpenter to effect the desired change. He did not choose to consult his father on the subject, fearing that he might make some objection either on score of safety or expense, while he had made up his mind to have his own way.

When it was finished, and the boat with its slender mast and white sail floated gently on the quiet bosom of the stream, John’s satisfaction was unbounded.

“You’ve got a pretty boat,” said Mr. Plane, the carpenter. “I suppose you know how to manage it?” he added inquiringly.

“Yes,” answered John carelessly, “I’ve been in a sailboat before to-day.”

Mr. Plane’s doubts were set at rest by John’s confident manner, and he suppressed the caution which he had intended to give him. It made little difference, however, for John was headstrong, and would have been pretty certain to disregard whatever he might say.

It was true that this was not the first time John had been in a sailboat; but if not the first, it was only the second. The first occasion had been three years previous, and at that time he had had nothing to do with the management of the boat—a very important matter. It was in John’s nature to be over-confident, and he thought he understood merely from observation exactly how a boat ought to be managed. As we shall see, he found out his mistake.

The first day after his boat was ready John was greatly disappointed that there was no wind. The next day, as if to make up for it, the wind was very strong. Had John possessed a particle of prudence he would have seen that it was no day to venture out in a sailboat. But he was not in the habit of curbing his impatience, and he determined that he would not wait till another day. He declared that it was a mere “capful of wind,” and would be all the better for the purpose.

“It’s a tip-top wind. Won’t it make my boat scud,” he said to himself exultantly, as he took his place, and pushed off from shore.

Henry Morton had been out on a walk, and from the summit of a little hill near the river-bank espied John pushing off in his boat.

“He’ll be sure to capsize,” thought the young man in alarm. “Even if he is used to a sailboat he is very imprudent to put out in such a wind; I will hurry down and save him if I can.”

He hurried to the bank of the river, reaching it out of breath.

John was by this time some distance out. The wind had carried him along finely, the boat scudding, as he expressed it. He was congratulating himself on the success of his trial trip, when all at once a flaw struck the boat. Not being a skillful boatman he was wholly unprepared for it, and the boat upset.

Struggling in terror and confusion, John struck out for the shore. But he was not much of a swimmer, and the suddenness of the accident had unnerved him, and deprived him of his self-possession. The current of the river was rapid, and he would inevitably have drowned but for the opportune assistance of Mr. Morton.

The young man had no sooner seen the boat capsize, than he flung off his coat and boots, and, plunging into the river, swam vigorously toward the imperiled boy.

Luckily for John, Mr. Morton was, though of slight frame, muscular, and an admirable swimmer. He reached him just as John’s strokes were becoming feebler and feebler; he was about to give up his unequal struggle with the waves.